


Weary hands and heavy hearts be still.

by givelourrylove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Field Trip, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, harry is 11, it's so mild seriously, louis is 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:37:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givelourrylove/pseuds/givelourrylove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His superhero-fingers press in his lower back, guiding him to the sofa.  His superhero-hand reaches for a blanket, covering them both in it. His superhero-arm wraps around his shoulders, making him lay his head on his superhero-chest.<br/>His all but human, all but superhero eyes make him lose himself in the wide universe.<br/>His all but human, all but superhero lips press a quick kiss to his temple. Harry feels like he’s spinning.</p><p>or</p><p>Louis is 13 and cheery, Harry is 11 and has some things to worry about. They go on a school-fieldtrip together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weary hands and heavy hearts be still.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to avoid saying much about this.
> 
> I thank Nike (@fondhxrry) for requesting such a nice idead and apologize to Nike for taking so long.
> 
> I thank Nadl (www.eatlouisout.tumblr.com) for beta-ing this mess and encouraging me the way I needed it.
> 
> The title I picked is the first line of one of Tyler Knott Gregsons poems in "chasers of the light".
> 
> I sincerely hope all of you enjoy this. I sincerely do.

_Dear parent or guardian,_

_Hereby we would like to inform you that this year_ Holmes Chapel Comprehensive School _decided to organize a field trip for two different grades in order to improve the coherency of students of all age in our school._

_As for your son/daughter; the students of his/her grade will be on this year’s school trip to Leeds along with the students of year-_

Harry had stopped reading at this point, stuffing the paper into the back pocket of his corduroy pants (£19.99, H&M kids department) and leaped outside, leaving the door wide open and his shoelaces flying around his calves.

(He doubts there has been a more joyful moment in his life (11.6 years, 139 months, 556 weeks or 3894 days) than the one in which he came home from school on a sickeningly rainy Thursday (early fall, 10.5°C), and grabbed the letter addressed to his mother, which the postman carelessly dropped on the doorstep. He thought it would be okay to open it since the sender was his school (Holmes Chapel Comprehensive School, a state comprehensive school).)

Panting, Harry makes a run for one particular house at the far end of his street (the grey-ish one, built in 1989). Johannah (32) is in the driveway, digging in a paper bag in her car.

HARRY: “Hello, Missus Jay!”

He’s come to a stop, resting his palms heavily on his knees. You wouldn’t guess he got a _B_ in P.E. class, judging by the way this little run went.

JAY: “Harry, darling! You look excited, what is it?”

HARRY: “Is Lou inside?”

JAY: “I think I heard him and Lottie in the backyard, bring them some candy and take one for yourself, okay dear?”

Harry nods and shoves the three lollipops Jay hands him in his pockets. He picks up his run again, around the house, hand gliding along the wall, brushing over the bumps of uneven wall paint.

HARRY: “Louis! Boo, look what we got!”

Seeing Harry approach, Louis jumps off the swing when it is on its highest and stumbles into Harry’s arms, who welcome him in the warmest of hugs. Louis digs his face into Harry’s warm neck and plays with the little ringlets that form in the back of his neck when he’s sweating.

LOUIS (quiet, whispering): “Hi, Haz”

Behind them on the swing set, Lottie scoffs playfully at their affectionate behaviour and heads inside after Harry hands her one of the lollipops.

Louis pulls Harry down to sit on the soggy grass and they both start eating their lollies. Their knees bump.

LOUIS: “So what have you brought me here, my Hazzie?”

Harry beams at the nickname (Louis calls him this since he was four, the effect hasn’t decreased, not even a little) and pulls the wrinkled paper out of his pocket.

HARRY: “We’re going on our fieldtrip together! Can you believe this? This is like literally the most amazing thing that happened _ever_!”

Everyone notices Harry’s growing fondness of the word ‘ _literally’,_ Louis is the only one who doesn’t mind.

Louis hastily pulls the lollipop out of his mouth, staring at the paper with eyes Harry thought were as big as PokéBalls. Louis' mouth is sticky with the juicy fluid, Harry wipes it off with the sleeve of his long-sleeved grey shirt (last birthday present from Grandma, wrapped in wrapping paper with blue dinosaurs on it back in February).

Without hesitation, he presses a little kiss to the side of Louis’ mouth afterwards. Louis beams and kisses Harry’s reddened cheek in return (Jay watches them from inside and smiles).

LOUIS: “This is so cool, you can meet all my mates! And I can meet yours!”

Harry receives a punch right in his guts by an iron fist with three inches thick spikes on the knuckles (most definitely Iron Man – the spikes are new, trying to remind him of what a fool he is and how – after eight years of friendship – he still can’t have Louis for himself only).

(Another thing is Harry doesn’t really have friends. Well, he hangs out with a boy and a girl, Shelbie and James, but they have each other and he is just kind of the third wheel on a bicycle. So who is he going to introduce Louis as his friends? He doesn’t have an answer or enough pocket money to bribe some kids to make them act like his friends.)

Louis notices his best friend’s change in expression but doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what it means.

Harry just nods and smiles a sad smile. Louis doesn’t like smiles like this because they lessen the beautiful depth of Harry's dimples.

LOUIS: “Hey, let’s sit on the swings for a bit, okay?”

HARRY: “Sure.”

The sad smile doesn’t vanish.

***

Harry can’t tell whether it’s anticipation or uneasiness that makes his shoulders tense and his little hands form into fists.

The thing is: tomorrow (Monday, 7.45 AM at the parking area in front of the school – ‘Don’t forget your lunch boxes, kids!’) is the day of departure. It’s not that he hasn’t packed yet, or hasn’t said goodbye to his sister, whom he won’t see for a week. _It’s just._

There will be thirty-seven students on this trip (20 boys and 17 girls, aged eleven to fourteen) and for some reason, which Harry is less happy about now than before, the teachers decided to split all of them up and put them into group-cabins of either six or four beds.

And no, Harry is not ready to sleep in Leeds (74.8 miles, an hour and thirty minutes away from home) in a room with at least three boys (possibly five) that don’t even know his favourite ice cream flavour (banana). He’s never slept anywhere that wasn’t his own, Louis’, his mom's or Gemma’s bed.

Harry comes to the conclusion that it’s uneasiness making him tense and restless, definitely _not_ anticipation.

He wants to call Louis from the phone downstairs but Gemma is busy talking to some friend of hers (Allison) about whatsoever (how cute that _Joshua_ guy is and how cheap those bracelets from claire’s were). He goes back upstairs and stuffs another stuffed animal in his suitcase (Johnny the monkey. Barbara the bear is already in).

All he needs is Louis in his cabin. Louis as his assigned partner. Louis. Yeah, he needs Louis.

(Another thoroughly useful thing would be bribe money for teachers to put them together, but Harry’s still lacking that. He shouldn’t have spent this month’s pocket money on these monkey socks (but Louis found them _‘sooo cool, Haz! You need those!’_ ).)

Harry doesn’t sleep well that night, as expected. He keeps having dreams about waking up in a strange bed surrounded by strange kids he’s supposed to know. Louis is nowhere to be seen.

Eventually (3.11 AM )he gives up and gingerly steps down the stairs - avoiding the seventh step (the creaking one no one ever cared to fix) - and slips into some socks. He knows he shouldn’t. Put his socks on. Go outside. Leave the house. _Be awake_.

Harry climbs out of the kitchen window (the front door would be too noisy) (also the window gives it all this kind of _spy_ -atmosphere) and strides across the damp lawn over to the grey-ish house built in 1989.

He rattles the rain pipe once and then makes a poorly realistic bird noise (secret code, created four months ago for various reasons).

It’s only about ten seconds later that Louis appears behind the window, smiling down at Harry, almost like he was awaiting him.

LOUIS: “I’ll open the back door, yeah?”

Harry whispers a timid ‘thank you’, but Louis is already on his way down.

 

LOUIS (now in a hushed voice): “Hi. Come in, Hazzie.”

He enters without a word, Louis closes the door behind him. As he turns around, he sees Harry’s tear stained face. His cheeks and eyes an unhealthy reddish colour. Someone drops a five-pound heavy brick on top of Louis’ heart and kicks his guts with spiked army boots.

Opening his arms, he steps closer to Harry, closer, closer, _closer_ and then just engulfs him in a hug that is supposed to take Harry’s hurt away and dry his tears within _seconds_. It doesn’t.

Harry sniffles and tries to back away but instead gets drawn in even closer, Louis claws hat his shoulder to keep him close and warm and _alright._ Harry holds his own hands tight behind Louis’ back. Louis’ hands rest firm but impossibly gently on Harry’s lower back. His thumbs draw circles like tea stains on dish clothing.

His lips are close, very close, deadly close, to Harry’s ear. Harry feels his own skin; cold, pale, uneven with goose bumps. He feels Louis’ skin; warm, lightly but beautifully tanned, perfect.

LOUIS (quiet, almost mute): “ _H._ ”

Harry feels his eyes brimming, burning, stinging. A hot tear dares to escape. He panics. _Crying is weak._ The tear burns its way down Harry’s cheek _, leaving a scared trail, blisters, wounds, heat._

LOUIS (calm voice, tight grip): “Shhh, H. My boy.”

And yeah, Harry needs Louis. Needs him in his cabin. As his assigned partner. Needs him to call him _his boy_. Harry needs Louis to be his _anchor._

Louis hugs him harder and starts rocking them the slightest bit. Harry doesn’t realize Louis _knows_ this calms him.

LOUIS: “Do you want to cry, Harry? Do you feel like crying? Come on, my baby boy.”

_Trails, blisters, wounds, heat. Harry lets go, the wall crumbles, it breaks, it falls. He cries. Trails, blisters, wounds, heat._

He doesn’t care about crying anymore, Louis takes care of him. _Louis is water, he cools, he rinses the blood off, he takes away the heat._

Louis must be a superhero, Harry thinks.

His superhero-fingers press in his lower back, guiding him to the sofa.  His superhero-hand reaches for a blanket, covering them both in it. His superhero-arm wraps around his shoulders, making him lay his head on his superhero-chest.

_His all but human, all but superhero eyes make him lose himself in the wide universe._

_His all but human, all but superhero lips press a quick kiss to his temple. Harry feels like he’s spinning._

_His eyes._

_His lips._

_Where does this come from?_

_His lips._

_His hands._

_His eyes._

_He’s lost. There’s an abyss and he can’t reach the edge. There’s a sea and he can’t reach the shore. There’s a void and he can’t get out._

HARRY (desperate, heaving): “Lou- Louis, can… can you-“

LOUIS: “Yeah, H.”

Harry’s heart clenches, his _aorta_ no longer pumping blood for what seems like a minute (in the least literally sense) because he _knows. He knows he likes his hair stroked when he is like that. Louis knows Harry by heart. By his gentle, loving heart._

LOUIS: “Baby boy, d’ya wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Harry shakes his head no, but tells him anyway. _It’s Louis. It’s Harry and Louis. It’s water mending all burns and cooling all blisters and washing away all the ugly things the world has to offer._

HARRY (calmer now, voice as damp as his cheeks): “I don’t… wanna go without you. I mean _be_. Be without you… in Leeds. Alone. You- I wanna be in a bunk- a cabin… with you, Louis.”

Louis lets out a breathless chuckle and that hurts, yeah. Harry’s a little hurt now. Why does Louis laugh at this? This is… He needs Louis. Completely inappropriate to laugh at.

HARRY (audibly and visibly offended): “What- Why are you laughing?”

LOUIS: “Harry, we are ‘onna be in the same group. One-hundred percent sure.”

Louis’ voice is drawling and tired from sleep (two iron arms wrap around Harry’s bare chest and squeeze tight, knocking all the air out of his lungs, vacuum building and rising up his throat. Guilt. He woke Louis. He should go-) (He doesn’t.).

HARRY: “How are you so sure?”

LOUIS: “Mom asked the teachers.”

He shrugs. This goddamned mischievous smile pulling on the pink corners of his lips. It makes Harry smile.

***

_Two days after the twenty-ninth(-ish) time of Harry’s desperate and absolutely horrified (and horrifying) nocturnal cries, which threatened to wake the whole neighbourhood, Anne gives up on feeding him hot milk with two spoons of honey and spraying lavender-scent all over his pillows._

_It’s Sunday afternoon and she guiltily knocks at Jay’s door. ‘You’re a bad neighbour. Sunday afternoon. What were you even thinking?’_

_Jay opens the door and greets Anne with a wide smile that resembles the sun. A shy little Louis clings to her leg shining even brighter than she does._

_JAY: “Oh Anne, hello, darling! Come in, will you! ‘S far too cold outside_ (it’s mid-April, warm enough to stand outside for a few minutes).”

_Anne accepts the offer. She can’t deny the cup of tea she gets offered later, anyway._

_LOUIS (muffled, into his mother’s leg): “Where’s Harry?”_

_JAY (exaggeratedly uninformed): “I don’t know, Boo. You’ve got to ask Anne.”_

_Louis’ confidence and cockiness is nowhere near where it would be years later. He timidly asks Anne about Harry._

_ANNE: “He’s at home.”_

_LOUIS: “Can I visit him? I’ve got new Pokémon cards I want to show him.”_

_ANNE: “I… oh, Louis. I’m sorry, I don’t- think it’s a good idea. Hazzie doesn’t feel well.” (her mood suddenly unnaturally lifted) “We don’t want you to get sick as well, do we?”_

_Little Louis shakes his head and trots (literally trots) back to his room. Anne exhales loudly, when she hears the door fall shut._

_ANNE: “I need to tell you about something.”_

_Anne isn’t the type to cry in front of people, but she does this time. She sobs between_ He’s been waking up in the middle of the night, screaming and wailing and twisting in the sheets _and_ He wet the bed once or twice too, I don’t know what to do. _Tear #1 strolls down her cheek when the words_ He keeps shouting for help and I have no idea what to /do/ _escape her mouth._

_Jay holds her hand throughout the conversation, only once or twice letting go to re-fill her ¾ - filled cup of tea._

_JAY: “How long has it been going on?”_

_ANNE (devastated): “About a month. I got some homeopathic prescriptions from the doctor but it just doesn’t help.”_

_JAY: “Maybe it’s his bed? Any bad memories attached to it?”_

_ANNE: “I don’t know.” (helpless) “What do I do, Jay?”_

_***_

_Louis sneaks out the house to see Harry. A little sickness won’t kill him. Harry is in the living room, curled up on the couch, idly swapping through TV channels when Louis knocks on the glass doors. He doesn’t look sick._

_Harry greets him with a smile, way less bright than his usual ones._

_LOUIS: “Can I sit?”_

_HARRY: “Sure.”_

_He flops down next to Harry on the couch and they both stay silent for some time (two minutes, fourteen seconds)._

_LOUIS: “Your mom said you’re sick. You look alright, though.”_

_HARRY (eyes fixed on the TV screen, but not focusing on what is being displayed on it): “’M not sick. But I feel bad.”_

_LOUIS: “Oh… Why?”_

_HARRY (quiet): “Don’t sleep well anymore and I dunno why.”_

_LOUIS (unsure of what to say): “Oh.” (suddenly gets cheery) “I could sleep with you. You know, make sure you sleep tight an’ stuff.”_

_HARRY: “You’d do that?”_

_Louis grins proudly. Friends. That’s what friends do. Make sure they sleep well._

_Harry looks up from under his soft, feather-like lashes revealing green, wet eyes. They wash away fog and mist, revealing the contrast to his milky, porcelain-like skin. So badly. Louis wants to reach out so badly and touch his_ friend's _soft features and even skin but he’s too scared to break the porcelain. More often than not his mother told him to_ be careful, Louis, you’ll break it! _. He’s ruined his mother’s favourite wine glasses (a wedding gift from her deceased aunt, presumably purchased at ‘Harrods’ for a price you wouldn’t call_ decent _in a million different universes) and he ripped out some pages (page 337 to 363, in which Jamie tried to win Tony back!) from his father’s copy of ‘A Spot of Bother’ (his favourite book_ of all time, Louis. Do you even understand? _)._

_You will break this, Louis._

_Be careful with that, please._

_Don’t be so rough, Louis!_

_Anger and what Louis couldn’t identify as panic rise inside of him like bile._ Don’t you dare touch those beautiful things, Louis! You’ll destroy _everything_ with your ugly big monster hands! Look how gentle she handles it, why can’t you do it like that, you beast! _Louis stabbed each of these unspoken but very well felt words into his chest._

_We’re never ever getting you a cat if you don’t stop being so rough and harsh!_

_That one hurt._

_Never ever. Rough. Harsh._

_There’s Harry in front of him. Frail and vulnerable, soft, delicate. Porcelain. Harry is the porcelain Louis got refused to touch but he’s going to prove it to everyone. Prove how he can handle beautiful and fragile things with caution._

_There’s Harry in front of him. Frail and vulnerable, soft, delicate. Louis reaches out to touch the porcelain. His ugly, rough fingers gently trace Harry’s sharp cheekbones. His thumb, which always presses too hard on breakable things, tenderly collects a string of tears from under Harry’s green, clear eyes._

_Louis holds his breath. He focuses on keeping his fingers light on Harry’s beautiful skin. On Harry._

_What do people do to beautiful things?_

_They rip flowers from the ground, from their home, to tuck them in pretty vases, because the flowers alone are not pretty enough._

_They take pictures of their beautiful beloved ones and put them in frames, because the photograph alone is not pretty enough._

_They hang dozens of beautiful moments on their walls and place them on their dressers and nightstands, they stare at them every day, every time they pass until they become as ordinary as the walls, the dressers and the nightstands they are placed on._

_See, Harry is beautiful. More beautiful than flowers and photographs and moments. Louis doesn’t want to rip him from the ground or put him in a frame or make his beauty seem ordinary and self-evident._

_What do people do to beautiful things?_

_They kiss them._

_LOUIS (voice hardly able to be heard): “Harry?”_

_HARRY (sniffles:) “Mh?”_

_LOUIS: “If I try something, will you promise me not to hate me?”_

_HARRY: “I promise, Lou.”_

_And there it is. It is there. There. Right there._

_Louis on Harry. Louis’ lips on Harry’s mouth. Sweet, sweet, curious pink on startled, bitten, pure red. Four closed eyes. Two open mouths._

_It’s a kiss. It’s the only way of truly saving something beautiful for oneself. No vases no framing, no nightstands._

_Despite Harry’s genuine surprise of pink on red, he melts into it. Like strawberry ice cream (any ice cream, really) that sits in the side compartment of a car in mid-July. Harry feels like strawberry ice cream. It’s amazing._

_He whimpers and Louis stops. Pink tears itself from red._

_Their swollen lips are inches apart. They breathe. Their lungs fill with everything, with flowers and beauty and pink and red. With Harry and Louis. Eleven and thirteen._

***

So it’s settled. Louis is in a cabin with Harry.

(Saying that Anne bribed the teachers would make her look like a bad parent maybe. Regardless, that is pretty much what she did. Anne wouldn’t say she’s proud of it, but she did it for her baby boy.)

 

Everyone is on the bus, about two dozen flushed children faces pressed against the smudgy bus windows. Not necessarily sanitary but – needless to say – an appropriate good-bye for six days without everyone’s family.

Harry’s got tears in his eyes, waving at his mom, despite her reassuring smile and the thumbs up she gives him. What makes it even worse is that Harry isn’t seated next to Louis. Louis sits with _what was his name again_ (Paul, his name is Paul) in the far back of the bus.

Harry is seated next to a girl he has never talked to (Elizabeth, she’s in Louis’ grade, brunette). She sits by the window and has her freckle-covered nose hidden behind the pages of a book ( _Harry Potter and the chamber of secrets, page 268_ ).

The teacher is doing the last few checks (“Is anyone missing? Where is Michael?” to which a silent voice replies: “I’m here, Mrs. Martin.”) and Harry’s uneasiness grows, along with the urge to bite his cuticles.

ELIZABETH: “You shouldn’t do that, Harry. It could get infected.”

To which, okay, Harry resentfully draws his fingers from his mouth.

HARRY (astonished): “How do you know that?”

ELIZABETH: “Happened to me. It’s not pleasant.”

Harry gives her a puzzled look.

ELIZABETH: “Not good. It’s not good.”

Harry saves the word ‘pleasant’ in his head ( _pleasant; a different word for ‘not good’, source: Elizabeth Hack)._

They both don’t say anything and Elizabeth moves her head to get back to reading, but Harry interrupts her – this is the only chance to make conversation, he thinks.

HARRY: “Are you in Louis’ grade?”

(He knows she is.)

ELIZABETH: “Yes. Do you know him?”

HARRY (swallows): “Mhm.”

It takes him some seconds to realise he should add something to his muttering.

HARRY: “He’s my best friend.”

A daring thing to say. Harry knows Louis has tons of friends in school.

ELIZABETH: “Oh, alright. Cool.”

HARRY: “Yeah.”

Neither of them speak for several seconds and Harry expects her to just stick her nose back into _Harry Potter and the chamber of secrets_ but she speaks up again, a little more quiet this time.

ELIZABETH: “He’s loud.”

HARRY: “Sometimes. We always talk when he’s with me. He’s not loud.”

He doesn’t know whether to take this as an offense.

ELIZABETH: “He’s loud in class. And during breaks. Everyone likes him.”

_But I like him best. And he likes me best. Shut up._

HARRY: “I like him, too. And he likes me. We’re best friends.”

Harry just really wants to get this clear.

ELIZABETH: “That’s nice, Harry.”

 

Harry and Elizabeth keep talking throughout the ride. Elizabeth tells him about _Harry Harry Potter and the chamber of secrets_ and how _you know what, you two do kind of resemble each other, Harry._ The ride isn’t bad after all and Harry is happy to have Elizabeth as his assigned partner for the upcoming museum tour.

(He misses Louis just a little but much. It’s bearable.)

After an hour (56 minutes) of driving, the bus comes to a stop and Mrs. Martin orders the kids to get out and queue up in pairs with their assigned partners. (Everyone refuses to hold hands at the start, Harry happily complies after Mrs. Martins first demand because he’s glad to hold onto _something_ at least.)

Elizabeth tells him she’ll take care of him and tell him about the museum (Leeds City Museum, covers different fields of history and apparently Elizabeth knows a lot about all of them).

Harry doesn’t see Louis in the line, he’s somewhere at the far back (getting extra attention from the teachers in order to keep him from being _Louis_ ) and he’s the second in line with Elizabeth.

***

Harry liked the guide tour they’d been given, but he’s very relieved to hear Mrs. Martin tell them to _go amuse yourselves, I’d like to see all of you here again in an hour and I remind you again, guards, to take good care of your companions!_

ELIZABETH: “C’mon Harry, I’ll tell you way more interesting stuff than what the guide said.”

She drags him off to one of the galleries and Harry gives Louis a quick wave and smile. There’s no time for more.

 

It’s not until the moment they stroll through the art gallery that it becomes a little… different. Because there is a picture hung up and the description says a lot about love (Elizabeth reads it out aloud) and Harry is not sure what to think of it.

HARRY: “Have you been in love, Elizabeth?”

ELIZABETH: “I don’t think I’d tell you if I were.”

HARRY: “But we’re assigned partners. I think it’s okay if you tell me. I’d be very _pleasant_ if you told me.”

ELIZABETH: “It’s _pleased_. Not pleasant.”

HARRY: “Pleased.”

ELIZABETH: “Have you been in love?”

Harry gulps in a horribly obvious way and shuts up way too long for it to be inconspicuous.

ELIZABETH: “So you have.”

Harry breathes out.

ELIZABETH: “Or are you _right now_?”

Seriously, Harry should say something.

HARRY: “I don’t think I’m i-in _love_.”

ELIZABETH: “Doesn’t mean you’re not.”

_Why is she so smart? Why is she turning everything dumb he says upside down? Why doesn’t she see the glimmer in his eyes when he talks about Louis? And w h y do his eyes glimmer when he talks about Louis?_

ELIZABETH: “Listen, you don’t have to tell me who it is or whatever.” _Thank God._ “I just want to tell you that it’s cool. People like people. Some even _love_ people. You get me. Like, parents and stuff. And if you’re not sure then it’s probably going to take _something_ to happen to make you realize. Make you become _sure_ in what you’re feeling.”

HARRY: “That’s so smart. You’re very smart, Elizabeth. But how do you know?”

ELIZABETH: “I don’t know. I just do. Don’t ask me that. Ask me ‘why’ and ‘what’ but don’t ask me ‘how’.”

She takes a look at her watch (a green one Harry thinks he’s seen at M&S a couple months ago).

ELIZABETH: “We need to go, it’s 3.55.”

She links their hands again and leads them towards the appointed place to meet (the Leeds tiger in the heart of the museum). As Harry looks towards the ground to watch the steady movement of their feet, she suddenly stops.

ELIZABETH: “One more thing. You know, the bigger expectations you have from the person you like, that’s what _you’re_ ready to do for them.”

Harry doesn’t fully understand that but he saves it in his brain, filed “Marked for later” and decides to think about it some other day when there’s been less _knowledge_ pumped into his head.

 ( _‘We view the duration of the medieval from about 500 to 1500, when Christoph Columbus had discovered America and led us into a new age.’_

_‘It’s 476 AD, to be precise, the last west roman emperor was brought down, and 1492. Did you know Columbus was Italian, Harry?’ Elizabeth had whispered. Gosh, she was smart. Harry wished he’d know as much as she did.)_

They get back to the bus and arrive at the camp within fifteen minutes. Both, Elizabeth and Harry take a little nap during the final bus ride.

Elizabeth’s head collides with the front seat when the bus stops at the camp, which wakes her from her nap. She shakes Harry’s shoulder and tells him they’ve arrived. Meanwhile Mrs. Martin strolls through the bus aisle, handing everyone papers (which contains a schedule for the next five days) and bracelets with the cabin number on them (#4 for Harry, #7 for Elizabeth).

***

Harry likes the cabin. Frankly, it’s a little shabby and maybe Louis and the other two boys (Gale and Marcus) had to eliminate one or two (five) spiders they found behind the door and on the windowsills but Harry still likes it. He is very happy. Not only because of the cabin, of course. Gale and Marcus seem to be very nice boys, but Harry cannot help but focus solely on Louis.

Louis, how he sits on the edge of the top bunk like a prince, no, a king, his bare feet dangling in the air and even though he’s had his shoes on the whole day and they most definitely are smelly, Harry couldn’t mind less. His ankles are bony and his toes and heels are a little dirty just like a kid’s toes and heels are supposed to be.

 

(They were having a campfire outside before, everyone gathered around a fireplace (Harry saw Elizabeth again and smiled at her genuinely, he received a little wave in return).

“Did you like the museum, Louis?” One of the boys ( _Paul?)_ asked and Louis shrugged casually.

“Kinda boring, don’t you think? I mean that tiger was pretty cool, but otherwise.” He shrugged again.

And Harry would have felt a little stupid for liking the museum so much, but he knew that the others would have, too, if they had spent their time around with a smart person like Elizabeth.

They headed back after that, everybody getting ready for the night.)

 

Despite the teacher collecting the phones and checking whether they were all bed-ready at 10, they stayed awake until late at night _(a definition you won’t find in the dictionary: »late at night«; children’s definition: just past midnight)_ talking and messing around.

When the alarm clock screams “00:32 AM” in a scary green colour into the darkened room, Marcus climbs back into his bunk and falls asleep within minutes. Gale follows soon after (12 minutes).

All of them have already slipped into their bunks, Michael and Louis in the top ones while Gale and Harry voluntarily picked the bottom ones.

There is silence for some minutes. Silence, painted thickly with the chirping crickets and the occasional complaints of a single frog. (Maybe that’s its issue. He’s a single frog.)

The so-called silence rings like bells in Harry’s ears. He hopes for Gale and Michael to fall asleep soon so he can continue to talking to Louis, this majestic boy lying – probably face down – right above him. If he stretches his hand out, _just a little more, a little more,_ yes, he can reach the wooden duckboard separating them.

Harry withdraws his now aching arm and contemplates whether it’s safe to speak now.

HARRY: “Louis?”

His hushed voice pierces through the dark like an arrow; he didn’t mean to be this loud.

LOUIS: “Hm?”

HARRY: “Uh… Can I – you know”

LOUIS: “Come up and sleep in my bunk? Sure.”

It’s not like Louis is completely new to this situation.

Harry murmurs a ‘thank you’ that goes unheard due to the rustling of the bed sheets. He climbs up the questionably trustworthy ladder, avoiding making creaking noises with every single step (which turns out to be inevitable but neither Gale nor Michael seems to mind).

With his left foot on the last step and his right one already on the mattress, Harry hits his head on the seemingly lowered ceiling (how else could it be). Louis snickers and pulls his lanky body beside him with a swift movement of his tiny hand.

 _(God, how tiny Louis’ hands are. Harry has seen them play in the sand, build a castle and present it with a proud smile, he has seen him stealing his fries whenever they have McDonald’s, because Louis always wants curly fries and later on decides that no, he would rather eat Harry’s fries. Harry has seen his hands hold a girl's hand and he remember how sick he felt that day. But still, Harry has_ felt _them on his cheeks, catching tears, felt them in his hair, tying it into knots and felt them at his sides, pinching and tickling. God, his hands.)_

HARRY: “That hurt.”

LOUIS: “I heard that.”

Louis’ back is pressed against the wall behind him, his upper (right) arm spread as if to invite Harry to cuddle back against his front. He doesn’t find the will to decline this invitation.

HARRY: “Thanks, Lou. You’re a good friend.”

Louis doesn’t respond anything to that. Harry assumes he wants to sleep. And him to shut up. He reaches behind himself and grabs Louis’ right hand, tugging it forward so his arm his draped around Harry’s middle in a way that is almost too familiar. The second before he lets go of Louis’ hand, he squeezes it and presses it palm-down on his own chest.

HARRY (hushed): “G’night, Lou.”

Louis’ breathing Harry can feel dampening the nape of his neck, feels unusual. _Tense._ Harry decides to ignore it for a while, but when silent, choked noises escape Louis’ mouth, Harry shifts and moves to turn around when he feels _something_ pressing against his thigh.

He turns and faces Louis, who is – _oh._

Louis is breathless, sweating, his eyes pressed what looks like it is painfully closed. His breathing is nowhere near evening out, he’s upright panting.

And yes, maybe now would be a good moment for Harry to say something, to move, but he cannot drag away his curious gaze from the absolutely thrilling and beautiful scenario in front of him. _(The blanket has shifted down Louis’ body, now only resting around his waist. His striped pyjama shirt has (purposely?) ridden up, revealing his small sun-kissed chest_ (Louis always tanned more easily than Harry did, proved by the last three summer holidays they spent together with their family in Spain.). _He has a hand splayed on his stomach and beneath his cramped fingers Harry sees the barely-there muscles of his stomach jump with every slightest movement of his hand. Louis mouth is opened and it is the gasp that is drawn from his lips that shoves Harry back into reality.)_

HARRY: “Lou? Are you – what is. I –“

LOUIS (gasping): “Haz, Harry, please I –“

It’s only then that Harry notices, because Louis happens to press his crotch against his thigh and _oh. Oh. Oh._

HARRY: “You’re –“

Louis is hard. Beside him? _Apparently._ Because of him? _Questionable._

LOUIS: “Harry please, just… just turn around, there’s noth–“

HARRY: “C-can I… Do you” Harry fails miserably. So miserably.

Desperate, wordless Harry, replacing words with deeds, suddenly surges forward pressing a soft kiss to Louis’ lips. (They’re red from all the biting.) And _thank god,_ HarHLouis responds and kisses back eagerly, so eagerly and _how could Harry have known that a simple peck from somebody can lead to something as breathtaking as this?_

They continue to kiss. A lot. It’s beautiful.

LOUIS: “Harry, please…”

HARRY: “Ssh, Lou, you’ll wake the others.”

LOUIS: “I- I don’t care.”

He presses the heel of his hand against the bulge in his pants and mewls against the sweat-stained pillow. It’s been what feels like ages since Harry last had control over his actions, so his hand follows Louis’, skimming down his bare chest to work around his crotch.

Louis mumbles something that vaguely sounds like Harry’s name, when the younger one rests his hand steadily on Louis’ hard on. Everything is so warm and hot and spinning, Harry thinks his arteries are going to burst through his skin from all the blood they are transporting. (What an odd moment to think about anatomy. _On the other hand…_ )

Seeing Louis’ reaction, Harry slightly strokes Louis’ bare stomach, mesmerized by the jumping skin and the goose bumps that rise from where his fingers leave an invisible trail.

Hesitantly, he lowers his head and gives Louis’ another kiss. It’s different, new. _The best kind of new. Better than new trainers. Better than new pencils to draw with. Better than new comic books his mother put on his desk as a reward for being such a nice boy._

Louis keeps making those noises that Harry really likes, and they grow louder and more frequent the lighter his touch on his sides turns, the lower his hand wanders. Louis bites his lip hard, his eyes shut close so much his vision whites out for a second or two.

He feels fuzzy all over and yes, okay, it has happened before but it never ever was this nice. Not without Harry. _Harry._

 _Harry,_ who leans by his side, a blissed out expression like white curtains on his face but he looks so happy.

HARRY: “I like you so much, Lou.”

LOUIS: “I like you so much, Harry.”

_Harry never ever wants to stop. Now he knows why his parents enjoy kissing so much. (It’s not that gross anymore.)_

 


End file.
